


Let Them Lay Swords at Your Feet (I Just Want to Put My Sword in Your Sheath)

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And everyone is amused by it, Attempt at Humor, But Jon thinks no one knows, F/M, Jealous Jon Snow, Like Overboard Jealous, Satire, Season 8 Salt, Sexual Content, except Dany, pining jon, tapping on the 4th Wall, with a wrecking ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12120519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: A completely satiric look at Jealous!Jon at Winterfell when he returns from his mission to gain a powerful ally and dragons.Jon Snow didn't expect things to go swimmingly with the Northern lords or his family when he returned North after having bent the knee.  He was prepared for that.  He'd do anything to keep them safe even if it had meant a thousand walks of shame through the streets of Kings Landing.  However, what he wasn't prepared for was facing his feelings of extreme jealously when he returns to his fair sister again...and finds a lot of guys lining up to swear themselves to her service.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, listen up! This is satire and meant to be comedic so please...in the name of the Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone and Stranger...don't take this too seriously. It's meant to be amusing. 
> 
> I was sent a prompt on Tumblr asking for a Jealous!Jon fic but there have been so many of those already that I chose to do something silly instead. Sorry!

_First, it was Jaime Fucking Lannister. Then, the gods-be-damned Hound, Sandor Clegane, and even Gendry, the-not-so-secret-bastard-Baratheon, who didn’t even have a fucking sword…just his Warhammer. And now this guy…whoever the fuck he was._

Jon tried to stifle that familiar queer tightening in his chest and the desire to start snarling like Ghost might at anyone who dared take away his supper and be glad for his beloved sister.

 _Sister Sansa…lovely Sansa…my lovely sister Sansa. She’s your sister. Just like Arya…you miserable, twisted bastard_.

But Jon could not look at Sansa in a brotherly fashion it would seem. His longing looks that a so-called wise man had once said were aimed at the Dragon Queen weren’t cast that direction at all. Actually, Tyrion really needed to see the maester, Jon thought. His eyesight…or his intellect…was clearly going if he truly believed that horseshit.

 

**Wait. To understand what’s going on, let’s back up to the start…**

 

(roll opening credits)

 

(hum the theme song...you know you want to)

 

It began a couple of days earlier at Winterfell when Jon had returned along with Daenerys Targaryen, her armies and dragons at his side. She’d graciously allowed him all of three minutes head start to see his family before she flew Drogon into the courtyard for them all to marvel at. Jon had tried to explain that the courtyard was a bit small for Drogon to fly into but making an entrance and spectacle of oneself is everything when you’re a ~~conqueror…liberator~~...savior.

He was greeted by Arya and, after a punch below the belt, he received a hug. Jon grunted a greeting to his dear little sister while massaging his balls.

“Where are Sansa and Bran?” he rasped in agony as the tears leaked from his eyes.

“Sansa’s inside sewing by the fire,” Arya said. “Stop being such a baby. I could’ve cut them off with my spiffy dagger.”

“She’s inside sewing?” he asked in disbelief. “She’d rather sew than see me?”

“Yeah but she’s thinking of you, sweetness. Look over there. She made that banner for your return,” Arya said pointing behind him.

Jon turned to see the grey and white WELCOME BACK, TRAITOR banner trimmed with frolicking direwolves and stifled a groan.

“She’s working on a special one for your new queen but it’s not done. Your highly touted boating expedition was over quicker than anyone anticipated.”

“Oh, gods…don’t remind me! And not quick enough,” he said, feeling strangely seasick on dry land. “Where’s Bran?”

Samwell Tarly appeared and piped up to answer for Arya. “He’s unraveling the mysteries of the universe and trying to figure out some unnecessary plot points from the past…and he can’t appear until later in the episode. He’s only allowed about ten minutes of screen time per season, you know.”

“Oh…right.  So, how did you wind up here?  What happened at the Citadel?”

"Jon, there's no time to explain these things.  There's only six episodes."

"Right."

“Sansa sure can sew,” Sam added with a smile while pointing to the banner.

“What in Seven Hells does that mean?!” Jon shouted angrily. He rounded on Sam and placed his hand on his sword. Sam fell back a step at his outburst and Jon realized he was surrounded by stunned faces. “I mean…um, she’s quite talented. Sorry, Sam. She made this cloak for me, you know?” he said with a quick twirl to show it off.

_Good, Snow…good job. You are subtle as fuck, dude. Just keep cool._

“Your sister made that?” Daenerys asked curiously.

She’d apparently realized that Drogon wouldn’t fit in the courtyard after all and walked up behind him while he was busy thinking about Sansa’s warm smile when she gave him his cloak. _She walks places…well, wonders never cease_.

“Um…sister? What sister? Who has a sister? Let’s get in out of the cold, shall we?” he said solicitously as he ushered the Dragon Queen and her party indoors.

_That went well. They are none the wiser._

 

* * *

 

 

“Your sister is much loved, my lord,” Daenerys sneered at his side.

“Aye…Your Grace,” he agreed.

He cast an anxious glance at her and watched for the tell-tell tightening of her lips…and the crazy eyes. _Whoomp, there it is. Time for another tantrum_.

She’d not been pleased the past several minutes any more than Jon but for different reasons. Her reasons stemmed from the fact that just as Jon had known all along, the Northern lords couldn’t care less about Daenerys Stormbent of Three Thousand Titles or her long-held belief that she was born to rule them all.

_Who needs the One Ring when you’ve got three…uh, two dragons?_

Just as they had turned up their noses at him the moment they got wind of his bent knee, they’d looked at her with suspicion and clear dislike from the moment they’d spied her elaborately coiffed silver hair.

Jon’s displeasure stemmed from something else…jealousy. It consumed him.

Every man in Winterfell seemed to be looking at Sansa. Didn’t they realize this was not allowed? And Sansa was busy smiling at most of them…except Jon. It was like Lou Gramm was singing ‘Cold as Ice’ in Jon’s ear when she looked at him. _Ice fucking cold_.

But back to Jon and his jealousy…first, there’d been the Kingslayer.

He’d arrived at Winterfell a day after Daenerys and her armies and shortly after the Northern lords had raised a hue and cry to proclaim a Queen in the North in favor of a Bastard King. Sansa had rationally and calmly explained to them all how there was no time for any of that with the Wall breached and the Dead on the march.

“My loving people,” Sansa began. _Gods, she’s lovely_. “I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England, too…wait! Sorry,” she said with an endearing blush.

“Gods, she’s adorable,” Tyrion said at his side.

 _Say that again, Motherfucker_ , Jon thought with a sharp look and as a low growl built in his chest.

“Indigestion, my lord?” Daenerys asked him.

“Something like that,” he grumbled before he edged away. He needed a prime Sansa-viewing locale.

 _My Winter Queen_ , he thought, his chest heaving with emotion and his heart eyes blazing as he gazed at her…good heart. Only because he liked the wolf bit though _._ _Everything I_ _did, right or wrong…I only wished to protect you. I made a promise, Mr. Frodo…wait a minute. Oh, here goes…I’ll protect you, I promise_.

“It’s okay, Sans,” Arya said to Sansa. “She’s one of my favorite red-headed historical figures, too.”

“Thanks, Sis."

"You bet.  Want to karaoke some Miley with me later?"

"Absolutely.  Anyhoo…unity is everything until this foe is met and conquered,” Sansa had said. “We must all band together or die.”

 _That’s what I’ve been screaming_ , Jon thought in frustration to see the bobbing of heads in agreement all around.

Just then, the doors to the Great Hall opened and a hush fell over the room. Striding from the back wearing a black cloak and Valyrian steel on his hip came Ser Jaime Lannister. Tyrion gasped from Daenerys’ side.

(cue ‘Strut’ by Sheena Easton)

The Kingslayer approached with that unseemly swagger of his and Jon remembered he didn’t care of this guy. Not. One. Bit.

“Have you come to swear a new allegiance, brother?” Tyrion asked in surprise.

“I have,” Ser Jaime responded.

Daenerys tried…and failed…to hide her smug look. Another great accomplishment to add to her list…having the man who killed her father beg to serve her.

_Well, he’s male, heterosexual and still possesses his cock. Of course, he’ll fall at your feet. Varys is the only one with eyes that he plans to use around you because…well, it all comes down to cocks in the end with these guys._

She could decide his fate at the toss of a coin if she chose. Perhaps she’d like to watch him serve. Perhaps she’d like to watch him burn. Maybe she hoped for a good grovel.

“I’m happy you have chosen to serve Our Queen…” Tyrion began.

“Her?” Ser Jaime scoffed. “I’m not serving her,” he said indicating Daenerys with his good hand. “I just left one Mad Queen. I’ll not serve another. I served her father if you remember. I saw her use her dragons to burn all the harvest of the Reach that would’ve fed thousands. I’ll never serve another Loony Toon Targaryen.” He strode forwards a few more steps and gave Jon a quick but dismissive look. “And I won’t serve this half-wit either.”

_Ouch._

“Lady Sansa,” he said next with a soft voice and…a longing look.

 _You, blond twat. Don’t you ‘Lady Sansa,’ my lady…sister_.

“May I approach?”

“You may, Ser Jaime.”

The Golden Lion made quite a show of drawing his sword once he stood before Sansa.

_Oh, I know you ain’t about to threaten my girlfriend…I mean, sister. I’ll Longclaw you ass in two seconds flat, Jimmy._

“This sword was forged from Ice along with Lady Brienne’s sword.”

Ser Jaime looked over at Sansa’s lady knight who was blushing like a girl.

 _She must be embarrassed at being singled out by this guy_.

“I beg you to accept it to defend House Stark once more. And, I ask you to accept me into your service, my lady.”

Sansa looked over at Bran.

 _Oh, it’s Bran!_ “Hey, Bran!” Jon said with a wave.

“Hey, Jon. We need to talk…like seriously.” His eyes drifted over to Daenerys and he made a little gagging sound.

“Let’s talk now, bro.”

“Can’t, dude. They’re giving me two lines and then I’m out. I’ll see you later though.”

“My lord,” Ser Jaime interrupted whilst looking earnestly at Bran. “I have done much to harm House Stark the past few years but what I did to you is unforgivable.”

“Don’t forget you killed Jory, too!” Arya shouted.

“Yeah…well,” Ser Jaime shrugged. “He was a red shirt from the get-go.” He turned his eyes back on Bran and knelt. “I’m the reason you sit in that chair. If you say I deserve to die…then I die.”

Sansa looked over to Bran, her lovely blue eyes filled with tears.

_Her eyes just sparkle in this lighting. Gods, she’s gorgeous. *sighs*_

“Bran?” Sansa asked.

“You left me a cripple but I would never be the Three-Eyed Raven if you hadn’t. He will serve you well, Sansa,” Bran replied.

Sansa rose to her feet and moved from behind the high table. Ser Jaime swore her his vow and Sansa smiled before helping him back to his feet.

_She…she touched him.  I can't...don't touch him, babe.  Gods, you could cut glass with that guy’s jaw. He’s old enough to be her dad but he’s way better looking than Baelish. Yep…I’m positive now. I hate him._

Ser Jaime walked over to stand next to Brienne and they shared a look...and a tender kind of smile. 

_Maybe they’ve met. No one ever tells me this stuff. ‘You know nothing, Jon Snow.’ Man, that gets annoying._

Someone in the back cleared their throat and strode forward…the Hound.

“Lady Sansa,” he began with his deep, raspy voice. “I’m no knight as you know so I won’t be swearing those cunt vows.”

“Must you use that word in every other line of dialogue?” Arya asked in annoyance.

“Hey, I don’t write this shite. So, bugger off, Wolf Bitch.”

The huge man knelt before Sansa and laid his sword at her dainty feet.

_I’ll bet she’d be a snuggler in bed that would rub her feet along my calves when we cuddle under the furs and then…_

“I am just one man. But I’ll protect you with my life, Little Bird.”

_Whoa, whoa, whoa…did he just…did he just call her a pet name? What the fuck? Where did this come from? Why wasn’t I informed? I mean, huge, scary dude with anger management issues goes on a wight hunt with me and never once mentions having a pet name for my secret love…sister?!_

“Me…and the rest of my family, right?” Sansa asked.

“Aye, them, too,” Clegane said. “Even the Broody Boy if you like.”

_Who’s this Broody Boy? Is this another arsehole I need to gut?_

Sansa waited for the approving nods of Arya and Brienne before saying, “Thank you. I’ll be happy to have a big boy…um, fearsome warrior like you watching over me.”

_Oh, baby…I’ve got a big boy waiting for you right here._

“My lady!” another voice called from the crowd.

_Et tu, Gendry? I thought we were bros. You cannot seriously mean to…_

“I have no sword, my lady. Well, I could have one. I make them all day long. Anyway…I’ve got this hammer. It’s a cool hammer. It wasn’t forged in Asgard or anything but it’s…”

“Gods…” Arya muttered and Gendry gave her a shrug.

“So, I guess what I’m saying is, I’d choose to serve House Stark…if you’ll have me,” he said as his eyes cut back to Arya.

A look of understanding passed between Arya and Sansa.  Sansa smiled and Arya blushed. 

_Are they like…checking him out or…_

“We’d be honored to have your service, Gendry,” Sansa said happily.

Gendry walked over to stand next to Arya. She punched him on the shoulder as she grinned.

 _Little lower Arya…like you did to me_.

And just when Jon thought it couldn’t get any worse, some other random dude strolled in.

“Bae!” Daenerys shouted with a smile at the handsome guy with an arakh on his hip, “I thought I left you in Meereen.”

“Whadup, Pookems?” the looker with Ser Jaime’s Season 1 Hair said. “Nah…Meereen kind of went to hell in a handbasket the minute you sailed away. Shocker, right?”

“But…” Daenerys huffed, “I was so sure leaving a large city that had its entire way of life turned on its ear and been ravaged by guerilla warfare and a naval bombardment would immediately come to heel under the guidance of a super-hot hunk of wildness like you!”

“So, have you returned to serve my Khaleesi once more?” Ser Jorah asked.

“ _Your_ Khaleesi? Awww…Jorah, man…I don’t know how to break this to you but she’s just not that into you. But don’t worry. Keep kissing her ass and following her around and maybe one day you’ll get your big break.”

Daenerys snorted derisively and the guy continued, “I’m Daario Naharis and I have come to serve.”

“That’s so sweet, bae,” Daenerys said. “But I’m kinda working my amazing skills of seduction where I don’t even have to try on another fella right now.”

“Not you,” he said with a chuckle “That Kinvara chick that was pointlessly introduced two seasons ago kind of gave me a taste for redheads. So, I figured I’d hightail it to Winterfell and check out the babe-alicious Lady Sansa.”

“Excuse me?!” Jon said.

“Excuse me?!” Daenerys repeated.

“What do you say, Little Red? Care to give a playboy sellsword with questionable morals a chance?”

“Why not? I’ve already been burned by the one man I thought I could actually trust,” she said as she gave Jon her dagger eyes.

“Harsh, Sans,” Jon said.

Ser Jaime looked around at the gathered assembly. And that Clegane dude was seriously blocking Jon’s view.

“Nine companions,” he mused.

“There’s four of you,” Brienne huffed.

“Sorry. Dad always said I sucked at math.”

“It’s okay, Goldie,” she added, patting his hand.

“Lady Sansa...we will be your Queensguard," Ser Jaime said.

"Well, I've not technically agreed to be queen."

"Whatever.  It's just a matter of time, lovely girl.  So...you have my sword,” Ser Jaime said.

“And you have my hammer,” Gendry added.

“And my ax,” the Hound growled.

“Hold on…where’d the ax come from?” Jon asked.

“Eh…I was missing the Season 6 me. I’m pretty fucking deadly with this here ax…you cunt,” he replied.

“Ahhhh…Season 6. Yeah, I miss that, too,” Jon said while shaking his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More men arrive to set off Jon's jealous behavior. Jon and Sansa talk and then Bran shares some important information at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. Honestly, this was going to be two chapters but it's getting a third now and maybe a forth? Who knows? *shrugs* 
> 
> Again...it's meant to be comedic, people, so take it for what it is. And, no, I don't paint Daenerys in a flattering light so if that's a problem for you, don't read it.

 

**And now for something completely different…**

 

(No…not really. But go ahead and watch some ‘Monty Python’s Flying Circus’…or just read this mess)

 

A few minutes later…

 

_And, after fuck ton of shits pledged themselves to my ~~sexy~~ beloved…sister. Okay, there were four of them. But I saw Tyrion eyeing her, too._

 

“How dare they!? How dare they choose to serve her over me?!” Daenerys ranted in the courtyard. “She’s just a girl that…what does she even do?!”

A chorus of the Queen’s supporters offered an array of suggestions…

“She takes care of her people. She’s more concerned with their survival than sitting on a throne no matter what those guys on Reddit say.”

“She’s industrious and kind.”

“She’s clever and knows how to play the game.”

“She’s survived things no one expected her to survive.”

In a moment of lunacy, Jon opened his own mouth to add, “She doesn’t brag about shit she’s done…or just lucked into…all damned day either. From the world’s most fortuitous wedding gift to landing on your ancestral seat to find it completely abandoned by the former owner, who despite his faults was a brilliant military man and would never have left his home completely unmanned by the way…but it was all ready for you to just march right in. I mean, seriously…who writes this shit?”

He smiled to himself for getting all that off his chest until he noticed Tyrion and Varys with their mouths hanging open. Davos was subtly shaking his head at him with a grimace.

_Oh, shit. Think fast, Snow! Initiating Crazy Eyes in 3…2…1…_

“Um…look, there’s Drogon flying overhead! Gorgeous beast!” he said with his most becoming smile.

Luckily, Daenerys was still busy with her shock and dismay that there were men who would rather serve Sansa than her.

“But I am the Princess That Was Promised!” she screeched as she stamped her foot. “The Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and Breaker of Snakes!”

“Chains, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Missandei,” Daenerys said, holding her head and twirling her wrist at her ~~servant~~ friend. “Go ahead and recite them all again for me, will you? It gives me a massive lady boner to hear you say them.” Missandei nodded and drew a deep breath but Daenerys interrupted by flouncing past them all again to shout, “No one leaves me!”

 _Give us time_ , Jon wanted to say barely containing his eyeroll.

He looked over at Tyrion’s guilty face.

_Is he envious? Or just constipated? Or scheming? Someone fill me in._

Varys wore a sly look.

 _You are going to drop her like a hot potato as soon as they work out an appropriately horrendous plot moment for you to make that jump_.

“I’d never leave you, Khaleesi,” Jorah rumbled in his deep, distinguished voice. _That voice…it’s like velvet, my man_. “I’ve come back twice…no, thrice already.”

 _Jorah…dude. That Daario Fuck is right about one thing. Eight freaking seasons…it’s getting really sad_.

Just then, there was a bevy of shouts and calls from the guards along the wall. Daenerys was still having a meltdown and the others had swarmed her to ~~puff up her tremendous ego~~ reassure her that all was well. Jon and Davos moved away to see who had arrived. Jon hoped they wouldn’t be missed.

When the gates opened, Jon was shocked to see Tormund, Beric Dondarrion and Edd Tollett striding into the courtyard.

“Hey, guys! What are you all doing here? And you look really out of breath.”

“Eastwatch has fallen thanks to the Night King and his freaking wight dragon,” Tormund said. “We took a page from that Gendry prick’s book and ran along the top of the Wall all the way to Castle Black and then we climbed aboard the Night Watch’s fastest three horses to get here.”

“Impressive!” Davos said. “You fellows must be fast as Eastwatch's supersonic ravens or something, I reckon.”

“Holy shit…the Night King resurrected the dragon?!,” Jon shouted before continuing in a more normal tone, “Oh, wait. I totally knew he would do that the moment poor, um…unnamed dragon…”

“Was it Viserion?” Beric asked.

“Nah…that sounds wrong. Maybe Vistaril?” Tormund suggested. “No, I got it.  It was Viagra!”

“No, not Viagra,” Jon huffed.

“Well, he did _rise_ again,” Tormund said whilst waggling his eyebrows. “But whatever. Since no one ever said his name, I think I’ll call him Norbert.”

Edd groaned and said, “Alright already. What are we going to do? The Night King and his army are on their way and we figure they’ll come straight here for plot reasons but it will take them an amazingly long time to get here so other things can be resolved first. I’ll bet I could ride to Dorne on horseback and make it back here before they arrive.”

“Right you are, Edd. Once everyone got a taste of Littlefinger’s teleporter, we didn’t have to waste time traveling to places anymore. And, thanks for abandoning your post coming to help us, mate,” Jon said.

“Well, I was freezing my balls off at the Wall and I figured if we’re all fucked, I might as well come here. At least I can see that precious cinnamon roll you call sister again before I die.”

“Precious…cinnamon…roll…I…call…” Jon stuttered out.

Edd nodded and smiled.

“Edd…” Tormund said with a warning look. “I warned you not to mention his ginger. Aw, shit. Look. His nose is getting all twitchy.”

(cue ‘Kill Bill’ sirens)

“But she’s his…”

Edd’s words were cut off…just like the air to his windpipe. Beric and Tormund managed to pull Jon off his dear friend though before any irreparable damage could be done. Jon’s arms were whirling like a windmill as he continued to struggle against the two men trying to restrain him.

“Calm down, Tiny Dancer,” Tormund barked.

“For a broody guy that’s been dead, he’s still full of piss and vinegar at times, isn’t he?” Beric asked.

“Jon…your incest is showing, son,” Davos said.

“What the fuck, Jon?!” Edd choked out as he massaged his throat. “My entire fucking life has been one flaming paper bag filled with dog shit after another, you know? But I thought we were friends at least! I mean, who the fuck saved your wolf from Thorne and his cronies?”

“Where is that wolf?” Tormund asked. “Not seen him since you was brought back from the dead.”

“Who stayed faithful when you were just a fucking corpse with Abs of Steel…”

“Don’t forget Buns of Steel,” Davos added. “You remember that Chuck Norris look-alike that did those ads?”

“Whatever!” shouted Edd. “I stayed faithful to my Lord Commander when I could’ve just…”

“I know! I’m sorry, Edd! I’m sorry!” Jon cried. “I don’t know what comes over me. It’s like when some man mentions Sansa I just get all…”

“Oh! Sansa Stark?” Beric said. “I remember her from when I was at court in Kings Landing. Lovely girl. Such a…”

“No, Jon!” Tormund shouted before he could pounce on Beric. “Why are you like this about Sansa?!”

“I’ll bet I know why,” Jaime Fucking Lannister said with a smirk as he sidled up to their group. He was joined by his brother and another man.

“Takes one to know one, brother. Right?” Tyrion added with a knowing look. Whatever was meant by that, Ser Jaime and Tyrion just exchanged a grin and shook their heads.

“He wants to fuck that Stark girl,” said the other man.

“I want to…she’s my sister!” Jon protested. The whole group laughed at him. “You’re all sick! I do not want to fuck my sister!” _Yes, I do. I really…no, I don’t!_ “Who the fuck are you again?” Jon growled at this newest interloper.

“Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, at your service, my lord.”

“Seven Fucking Hells…I though we left you drinking with Pod.”

“You did,” said Pod, marching up to join them. “Thanks for thinking of me by the way. We’ve never shared any dialogue, Jon. It’s an honor to hear you say my name. So, I told Bronn here all about Lady Sansa and Winterfell and he said…”

Bronn cut him off and continued, “Since the Lannister boys came here, I figured I may as well, too. No love lost between yours truly and Queen Cersei.  We had a bit of a thing once...ended badly.  So, I thought maybe Lady Sansa might give me a castle once these undead twats are dealt with. Come to think of it…I was promised a highborn girl to wed, too. Well…Sansa always was a sweet girl when she was married to the Imp…”

“Here we go again,” said Tormund as Jon launched himself at Bronn.

A general melee of shoves, shouts, fists and kicks ensued that was only broken up several minutes later by the fair lady herself.

“What in the name of the old gods and the new is going on here?!” Sansa asked sharply. She looked down imperiously at the lot of them rolling around on the ground until they all stood one by one, shuffling their feet and sticking their hands in their pockets. “Look at you! You should all be ashamed of yourselves wallowing in the dirt and fighting like a group of belligerent children! Fie and for shame, Podrick Payne. You’ve torn your cloak.”

“Sorry, my lady,” poor Pod said turning beet red as Bronn snickered at him.

“And you, Ser Jaime…it’s really an unfair advantage to strike Tormund with that golden hand of yours. And I assure you that whatever he says, Brienne is _not_ on the brink of accepting his proposal.”

“Sorry, my lady,” Ser Jaime said with a bow.

“I’m winning her over. Ours is a slow burn,” Tormund mumbled.

“Now, listen up,” Sansa continued. “We’re facing our apocalypse so this fighting needs to stop at once. Is that clear?” Everyone nodded and muttered an apology and Sansa turned her eyes towards her brother. “Jon, I’d like a word with you…alone.”

Jon sheepishly followed his sister while the other men continued to kick at the rocks at their feet like boys caught misbehaving by the teacher.

 _The totally hot teacher you’d like to bone. Mind out of the gutter, Jon_.

She led him up to the ramparts. _Our special spot. Aw…she does love me_. It was snowing. _Snow equals romance, right? Not thinking platonic thoughts here at the moment, guys_.

He followed in her wake till they reached their appointed place overlooking the snowy landscape. He relished the teasing hints of her bewitching scent he caught on the chilly breeze amidst the more usual smells of Winterfell; wood smoke, horse…and body odor.

 _What? It’s not like we have hot showers every morning and tons of personal care products. You don’t even want to know the last time my clothes were properly washed_.

But not Sansa. She smelled sweet as a summer rose even in the heart of winter.

_Sansa…Sansa…Sansa…_

She shook her head causing her long flowing locks of auburn hair to fall about her shoulders and her lone braid to swing about. Her eyes were shining with emotion and her delightful, pink lips were moving rapidly. Jon wondered how sweet they’d taste against his own…

“Jon? Are you listening to me at all?!” she asked in exasperation at last.

“Huh?” he said, shaking his head and realizing she’d been speaking to him. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I wasn’t really…”

“Well, that’s true to form if nothing else. When did you ever listen to me?”

“Sansa…I swear I listened to you.”

“Really? When I said, ‘Don’t go to Dragonstone, Jon,’ what did you do?”

“Well, I went because we needed…”

“When I said, ‘It could be a trap, Jon,’ what happened?”

“Well, they took away my boat and weapons…”

“And when I said, ‘Don’t make the same mistakes that…”

“Sansa,” he said a bit more sharply, his temper provoked at last. _Gods…we’re going to fight. I get so fucking turned on when we argue. Why is that? Is this that UST stuff the_ _fanfic readers like to talk about?_ “I listened, alright?”

“By kneeling when you didn’t have to and…”

“I swear, I thought I was making the best decision at the time,” he growled back at her. She sighed and he nearly melted. _Gods. Okay, keep talking and maybe you can win her_ _~~love~~ trust back_. “Plus, she’d just essentially kidnapped me again while I was suffering from hypothermia. And, the rest of it was all part of my plan to gain three…well, now it’s two…weapons of mass destruction to use against the Night King and his army. You know how obsessed I am with that dude.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Yeah, I know.”

 _You are so fucking sexy and adorable when you’re pissed at me, babe_.

“I told you what Cersei was like and then you willing walk into Kings Landing like you’re on some sort of home and garden tour?” she grumbled.

“I was fucking shipped there while convalescing along with the wight we captured…”

“Don’t even get me started on that lunacy!” she shouted. “What were you thinking? You are a king…or you were…and you go on some freaking suicide mission to capture the undead?!”

“It made sense at the time!” he shouted back. Sansa gave him a sardonic look and pursed her lips. “Okay…no, it didn’t. Not one bit actually but…we had to advance plot points! And we all looked pretty bad ass heading out the gate.” Sansa turned away from him and it was like another dagger to his heart. “Come on, Sansa! Don’t hate me! You did an awesome job here while I was away just like I knew you would. I could’ve done some things differently, I’ll admit. I really wish I could undo some stuff, too. But won’t you forgive me? I forgave you,” he said with his sweetest puppy dog eyes. 

“Alright, alright,” she said with the tiniest little smile. “I’ll forgive you…eventually. But only because I love you.”

“You…love me?” he squeaked with hope.

(cue ‘Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong’)

“Of course, I do, silly,” she said with a bigger smile. “You’re my brother.”

(record scratches to a halt)

“Oh, right,” he said as hope was popped like a balloon again.

They stood there together for several minutes though and Jon was happy that at least she seemed okay with being in his presence again.

“Remember when you told me ‘Winter is here’ and I kind of laughed and talked about Father and then you smiled at me? That was a good day for us, right?”

“Yeah, Jon. I remember. It was a good day,” she said with a darling little grin when he took her hand. She didn’t pull away from him.

 _Now’s my chance. Forehead kiss? Maybe kiss her hand this time. I could stroke her soft cheek. I’d have to remove my glove though and it’s bloody cold out here. Ah, seven hells, it’d be worth it to touch her_.

But before he could make up his mind, Sansa was called away by the guards as another arrival came to Winterfell. Jon followed her only to have the unexpected jolt of finding Theon Greyjoy standing before him yet again.

_For a guy I went five seasons without laying eyes on, he keeps popping up on me now. He’s like some damned Jack-in-the-box…or Kraken-in-the-box._

“Oh, Theon! I’m so glad to see you alive,” Sansa exclaimed, embracing that sea turd tightly and…

_What?! Are you kidding me? She’s caressing his face and…oh, Mother, Maiden and Crone…kissing his forehead?! Seven, save me! That’s my fucking move! I…I…I think I’m about to…desperate times call for desperate measures._

“Jon?!” Sansa shrieked as he collapsed to the hard ground.

 _Ow…I think I landed on Longclaw awkwardly. Be cool, Snow. Time to play a little possum_.

He opened his eyes to find himself flat on his back staring up at the wintry sky. Sansa was kneeling beside him, a concerned look on her lovely face as she held his hand.

_Oh, yeah. That’s right, my sweet. Theon who?_

“What happened?” she asked tenderly.

“I must’ve…Gods, I must’ve lost consciousness or something. I’ll be alright,” he said weakly as he made to sit up.

“Don’t you dare!” Sansa scolded. “You just fainted. You should stay right there. I’ll have someone fetch the maester.”

“I’m so sorry, Sansa. I’m sorry for you to see me this way,” he said sadly. “I’ve not been the same since I emerged from that frozen lake filled with zombies.” Sansa cooed and squeezed his hand. Theon rolled his eyes now. “Ever since I nearly froze to death and then Uncle Benjen appeared and…” _Quick! Whip up some tears, dude!_ “…sacrificed his McGuffin-y Undead self for me…I’m sorry. I can’t,” he sobbed.

“Oh, fuck me,” Theon muttered. “You are pathetic, Snow.”

Sansa didn’t pay Theon any mind though. “You, poor thing,” she said sweetly.

“I came to swear myself to you, Sansa,” Theon interjected.

_She’s had a rash of that already, Greyjoy._

“Oh, Theon…that’s so sweet. I thought you’d sworn yourself to Daenerys?”

“Well, Yara did the swearing and then Daenerys forgot all about us the instant we got captured. Allies, my eye. More like ‘serve me but the minute you get ambushed, I’m out.’ She abandoned my sister to an unthinkable fate with our psychotic uncle so I had to go rescue her. Anyway, I’m done with weather vanes masquerading as Dragon Queens. I want to serve House Stark again. I want to serve you, Sansa.”

“Theon…that is just so…”

“Oh, my head!” Jon exclaimed loudly to regain some attention. “I think I really ought to lie down for a bit.”

“Of course, Jon,” Sansa said, returning to him again. “Theon, help me get him inside.”

Theon narrowed his eyes at him and Jon gave him an impish wink when Sansa’s back was turned.

“Fuck you, bastard,” he whispered in his ear.

“Tentacles off my sweet…sister, Greyjoy,” he whispered back.

Theon and Sansa helped Jon to his feet and he leaned heavily into Sansa, breathing in a deep whiff of her haunting fragrance.

Just as they were nearing the entrance to the keep though, Jon saw Samwell Tarly hurrying towards him.

“Hey, Jon! You got a minute?”

 _Sam, your timing sucks but I’ve missed you, buddy_. “Uh…sure, Sam. Thanks, Sansa. I’ll be alright now.”

Sansa nodded uncertainly before she turned to walk away. And that dick, Theon...wait…that was uncalled for…anyway, Theon offered her his arm and gave Jon a shit-eating grin as he walked away with her.

“What’d you need, Sam?” Jon grumbled as they walked away while watching his ~~girl~~ sister being led inside by another man.

“You need to come with me,” Sam said…cryptically.

“Where?” he asked with growing anxiety.

“To the crypts…to see Bran,” Sam replied…cryptically.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Well, hang in there, Young Skywalker. We’re about to have a talk about your daddy as it so happens.”

 

Ten minutes later…

 

“There, there,” Sam said soothingly as Jon continued to vomit. “It’s really a good thing I spent so much time puking and cleaning out chamber pots in Season 7. I never could’ve dealt with your reaction to finding out you’re not a bastard and that you banged your aunt otherwise.”

“Sam…*retches*…please don’t…ever speak…oh, gods…of that…*retches some more*…again…ah, fuck.”

“You do have the loveliest hair, Jon,” Sam continued. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to wear it down for a bit.”

Jon stood up at last and wiped the last of the sick from his face with his gloved hand. “Are you fucking sure about all this, Bran?”

“Oh, yeah…I mean, this Three-Eyed Raven gig…”

“I thought you were the Winged Wolf,” Sam said.

“Nah, Sam. Remember? K.I.S.S.-Keep it simple, stupid. Too many names to keep up with confuses the bulk of our audience so we just recycle names here.  Right, Aegon?” He focused back on Jon who was staring broodily at the statue of his father…uncle. “Look, Jon. It doesn’t matter who the sperm donor was. Ned Stark was your father, same as he was mine.  He raised you and your entire value system comes from him and not some dude in a terrible blond wig.”

“But, we’re technically cousins,” he said as his eyes moved to the statue of his aunt…mother.

“Yeah, but you’ll always be my bro.”

“Thanks, Bran. I feel the same about you and Arya.”

“But not Sansa?”

“Well…we’re technically cousins now, aren’t we?” he said as a little spark of hope was enlivening the soul-crushing weight of learning he’d been sold a lie his entire life by the man he admired most.

“Um…sure thing, Jon. One question though is how will Daenerys Targaryen take the news that she’s not the last Targaryen after all.”

“Or that Jon has a better claim to the Iron Throne than her?” Sam added.

“I don’t want to be king of the Seven Kingdoms,” Jon protested.

“But will she believe that?” Sam asked.

“No,” Bran answered. “She won’t.”

“She’s going to go all bat-shit, reign of fire and blood on our asses, isn’t she?” Jon asked.

“Yours or Cersei’s…or both.”

“Dammit! Do you know what all I did to secure her fire-breathing lizards so we could defeat the Night King?! Never mind…don’t answer that!” Jon sighed and scratched his chin. “We’ll need to hide this from her for now.”

“So…are you going to keep warming her bed then?”

Jon shuddered and cried, “Uhh…No!”

“Then, how are we going to keep her here? She’s already considering leaving after learning the news about Cersei and her sellswords from Ser Jaime.”

“I don’t know if we’ll manage to keep her here honestly,” Jon conceded. “You could bounce a quarter off my perfect ass but she’s dead set on sitting her own on that twisted, ugly chair.”

“But without the dragons the odds of successfully defeating the Night King and his army are 2,079,395 to one,” Bran said.

“Never tell me the odds, kid.”

*beep, boop* “O…K…Human…Cousin.”

“Would you stop? People are calling you Tree, you know.”

“People are calling you worse things, you know. Look…part of the reason I dragged out this reveal for so long was for you to be here and in the right place to prep you for what you need to do next.”

“I’m listening, Bird Boy.”

“You’re a Stark but you’re also a Targaryen. You’ve got a direwolf.”

“Where is Ghost anyway? I told him to watch over Sansa when I went South.”

“You did?” Sam asked.

“I totally did! It’s not my fault they cut…”

“Pay attention, Jon,” Bran said sharply. “You’ve got a direwolf. Now, you just need…”

“A dragon!” Jon said.

“Exactly!”

“Well, she’ll never give up Drogon.”

“There’s another dragon, Jon.”

“I know but we’ve not been properly introduced. I feel kind of weird walking up and saying, ‘Hey, Rhaegal. We’ve never talked but would you want to be friends and maybe I could ride you?’ I’ve no experience in training dragons.”

(cue ‘How to Train Your Dragon 2’ original motion picture soundtrack)

Bran and Sam started smiling at him and nodding along to the music.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Jon sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got motivated to finish this one up! I hope it's not disappointing. And while there's debate as to who exactly first uttered the phrase "Dying is easy, comedy is hard," I will attest that writing comedy is not easy at all!

 

(Because all good things must end eventually…and that goes for this garbage, too.)

 

**Part one of our conclusion…**

 

**‘Jon Snow and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day’**

 

To say that Jon Snow slept poorly that night would be quite the understatement. Actually, he never attempted to go to bed, too afraid that a certain silver-haired harridan might come looking for him. He’d vomited enough for one week thank you very much and he certainly didn’t think sharing his shocking news with her would work in his favor.  In fact, he could almost imagine her eyes widening and getting all crazed with the things he could tell her. 

_Hey, Aunt Dany…may I call you Dany now? You know how you mentioned your bro calling you that? Well, seems I must’ve been channeling some blood of my blood kind of vibes because it turns out we’re related. And thanks to the copious amount of incest committed by the Targaryens over the centuries, we share even more DNA than a typical aunt and nephew. Isn’t that just cringe worthy?_

_And since I was nobly trying to avoid committing incest with my red-headed temptress of a half-sister and losing the battle of denying my feelings, the gods decided to have a good laugh and thought that accidental incest trope would be worth exploring. You want to know what I think of that? I think the gods can suck my cock and choke on it._

_And while we’re chatting…I’d like to point out that I’m the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. At least to your delusional way of looking at things I am since you’re actually just another conqueror. Robert Baratheon claimed the Throne by conquest when he defeated the Targaryens…just like the Targaryens forged the Throne and united the kingdoms through conquest 300 years earlier. But hey, let’s throw all our history lessons out the window and just say I’m the rightful heir because we’re ready for Dance of the Dragons 2.0._

_You know what I’m ready for though? Ned and Cat 2.0! And my beautiful Tully/Stark girl who is in fact my cousin and therefore a completely acceptable…oh, who am I kidding? She’s still pissed at me and I’m never going to win her now._

Long into the night he was plagued with feelings of anger and disillusionment.

He had finally managed to catch a few winks in the maester’s study since at least that guy didn’t seem to loath him on sight.

 _Well, he served the Boltons. I guess I’m still tolerable by comparison_.

But everywhere else he turned the next day, he was met with wry looks of disappointment.

Little Lady Mormont nearly broke his heart with her teary eyes...and then nearly broke his foot when he drew closer to offer what comfort he could and she stomped on it.

“I believed in you, Jon Snow! I stood up and made a kickass speech and practically handed you a fucking crown, Traitor! And how fucking dare you offer the Mormont sword to Jorah?! He betrayed our house and shamed his father that you claim to love! And FYI, cheese dick…Robb Stark was the last King in the North before your sorry ass! Why don’t you educate your queen on that?!”

“Ow!” he cried, hopping on one foot as the Little Bear stormed off.

“Yeesh,” Lord Manderly said who witnessed the whole thing. “Guess she’s taking your betrayal a bit hard.”

“I didn’t mean to betray anyone. I was only trying to…”

“Save it, Pup,” he said with a scowl. “No one cares what you say now.”

“You called me the White Wolf that day!” Jon shouted as the large man walked away. “I know about your promise, Manderly! A thousand years ago, when you were sore beset and friendless, the wolves took you in, nourished and protected you from your enemies! You swore that you would always be our men! Stark men!”

The white-haired lord turned on his heel and said, “So, we shall. But you’re not a Stark.”

“Ouch,” Jon wheezed as though he’d been punched. “Despite your size, I think I would’ve preferred for you to just stomp on my foot honestly.”

“Can’t hear you, traitor! I’m off to follow the beautiful Lady Sansa around and tell her what a terrible mistake I made at the end of Season 6…and introduce her to my grandson maybe.”

“Arse,” Jon muttered to himself.

It only got worse from there.

Sam and Gilly were cloistered at a table in the Great Hall with Little Sam. Jon hadn’t seen the lad in such a long time and he’d grown quite big. He smiled to himself and went to join them.

“Hello, Gilly,” he said with a friendly smile. “How’s this little one?” he asked as he went to chuck the boy under the chin…only for the little monster to bite the bejesus out of his finger. “Ow!” he cried.

“Oh, gods! I’m sorry, Jon,” Gilly said. “Sam, that was very rude! Apologize to…”

“Bite him again,” Sam said sourly to the boy.

“Sam!” Gilly gasped.

Jon looked at his best bud in astonishment and disbelief.

_Oh, gods…is Sam going to…I don’t think I can take it if he’s about to say we can’t be buds anymore. Wait…why can’t we be buds?_

“Sam…is there something wrong?” Jon asked.

“Is something wrong?” Sam asked snarkily as he stroked his chin. “Hmmm…oh, let’s see. Why should anything be wrong, Jon? Why should I harbor any ill will?”

“I, uh…don’t know. But I’m afraid you’re about to tell me.”

“Why should I care that your Dragon Bitch roasted not only my father, who was a shit granted but still MY FATHER, but also my little brother? Dickon didn’t do anything to me but be a little brother! I mean, he couldn’t help that he was the favorite son. He was a good person and…I could’ve brought him up here to meet Sansa, too! He might’ve treated her right. Would’ve been a nice change of pace for the poor girl!”

“Sam! What are you talking about? What did…”

“She burned them alive, Jon! Your queen said she’d take no prisoners. She told them to kneel or die and then burned them alive! How do you feel about burning prisoners of war alive, Jon? Seems like you were sort of anti-burning people alive at one point in time but maybe that’s changed.”

“Wha…she did that?! When did she…oh, holy Sept of Baelor! When she attacked the Lannisters and…”

“Yeah. Don’t act like you didn’t know,” Sam grumbled angrily.

“I didn’t, Sam. I swear! I wouldn’t have just ignored something like that. I would’ve…”

“You would’ve what? Lodged a complaint with the concierge on Dragonstone while you kicked back on the beach? After you were busy playing cuddles with her dragon? The same fucker that torched my pops and bro and left my mother and sister at the mercy of her Dothraki horde? How do you think they’re faring now, huh?”

“Sam! It wasn’t like that! I…”

“Oh, save it! Have a nice life... _Aegon_ ,” Sam said before he ushered Gilly and Little Sam from the hall.

Jon felt his chest constricting and he couldn’t draw a proper breath. He felt kind of shaky and out of control. This was sort of like when men would talk to…or about Sansa…or just look at her. But it was worse. It was…

_Don’t think. Don’t think. Just…shit! What am I going to do? I’m…_

Just then one of the serving women passed by with a platter full of honey cakes. Jon realized he’d not eaten since he’d broke his fast the previous day and went to snatch one. He’d always been indulged with whatever he wanted when he was a king.

But apparently, he was back to being the Bastard of Winterfell once more as he got a sharp rap across the knuckles instead.

“Gods,” he muttered as he massaged his sore hand.

Actually, this was worse than being the Bastard of Winterfell. If Lady Catelyn was cold towards him, at least he’d had Robb and Arya and Father and…

_He’s not your father._

He gasped in agony as that sensation of his chest feeling too tight hit again, along with a ringing in his ears and a coldness swallowing him whole. It was like he’d been pierced through the heart again.

 _That’s definitely what this feels like. I know something about that at least. Maybe I really should see the maester_.

Of course, there was no dagger buried in his chest from a treacherous little shit named Olly. This was not a physical dagger to the heart. It was something else.

Thus, Jon began his futile attempt to bury another powerful emotion along with his jealously over Sansa.

Pain.

He’d been working through the shock and anger but he’d not truly confronted how bloody painful Bran’s news had been.

 _And I’m not about to start now!_ he thought desperately. _There’s things I need to do today. There’s absolutely no time for manly tears of anguish and…fuck, I need to get outside!_

The winter winds were chilling but soothing in their way. The gentle snowflakes fell on his nose and his lashes and kissed his cheeks as he saw his beloved cousin across the way tending to a group of small folk that had come seeking bread.

He stood back to admire her as she spoke to the women and children. She was more than just a pretty face or a clever mind. She was a beautiful person, inside and out.

He loved her. He could admit it here at least within in the walls of Winterfell and to himself alone. He loved her and the only good that came from Bran’s new was knowing that there was nothing wrong in him loving her…even if he’d never have her.

A ruckus from nearby drew his attention away from Sweet Sansa and he saw Daenerys and her posse tramping out across the yard speaking animatedly.

“My queen,” Tyrion said hysterically. “You cannot fly off like this again! It’s too dangerous. You’re the most important person in the world! If we lose you, we lose everything!”

_Seriously, Tyrion…how many of your braincells died on that voyage from Kings Landing to Pentos?_

Daenerys stuck her fingers in her ears and chanted, “La! La! La! I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you! I’m off to do whatever the fuck I want because I’m the Mother of Dragons! Good-bye, Frozen Wasteland! Hello, My Darling Throne! Look out, Cersei! There’s a new mad queen in town!”

She mounted Drogon as Jorah fell to his knees and cried, “Please, Khaleesi! Don’t abandon us!”

_Dude…have some self-respect. At least I’m not that pathetic._

(cue footage from yesterday when Jon Snow pretended to faint in order to gain Sansa’s attention away from Theon)

_That was completely different!_

He saw Daenerys giving him a longing look from where she sat atop Drogon. Jon thought maybe he should muster up some heart eyes or something to try and get her to stick around but, eh…

 _I’d bend the knee and beg you to stay **but** …frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn_.

And like a flash, she was off.

_Good riddance._

_No, wait! She just flew off on one of our nukes! ARGH!!!!_

However, this development did allow for one potentially meaningful plot device. He just really hoped he didn’t get his ass roasted or eaten when he tried it.

“So…Rhaegal. How are things?” Jon asked cautiously as he edged his way around the green and bronze monster. “You’re looking especially… _gorgeous_ today.”

The dragon snorted skeptically at him.

“Yeah…sorry. Your mum laps comments like that up like cream but I’ve heard dragons are intelligent. I guess I should’ve realized you’re clever enough to know when a load of horseshit is being shoveled your way.”

The dragon made a whimpering sort of sound.

“What's wrong? Don’t like the snow?”

The beast jerked its massive head towards where Drogon had just flown off with Daenerys…leaving Rhaegal home alone.

_Well, it’s not really home for you at all._

“Ah…it’s tough when you’re not mum’s fave, right? No, no…I know a thing or two about that. Lady Catelyn wasn’t exactly passing out lollipops and forehead kisses this direction, you know.” Jon looked around and decided it was safe to continue. “It turns out we’re related.”

Rhaegal screeched.

“No, not you and me! I’m a human being and you’re a fucking reptile…though a magnificent one! I mean, who would be crazy enough to think that they could be related to a…never mind. Anyway, Daenerys and I are related so maybe you and I could be…pals or something.”

The dragon didn’t exactly seem convinced but as no fire was turned Jon's way, he took that as a step in the right direction. Maybe with a little work, Jon could talk Rhaegal into doing something meaningful with his dragon self. Instead of burning people alive and being a mere tool of a conquistador, he could maybe help save humanity. And if he didn’t take to Jon…well, maybe Bran could do his warging thing.

Jon strode off in search of Sansa. He needed to talk to her and get some things off his chest. Okay, mostly he just needed someone sweet to feel sorry for him and his shitty day.

As he walked along, he noticed that all around the yard there were men and women that had sworn themselves to Sansa.

_There goes Jaime Fucking Lannister. Huh…he’s got a new cloak. Grey with white trim. Oh…Brienne’s got one, too. That’s nice._

In fact, as Jon continued looking he spotted that same cloak on lots of people. Davos had one. And Edd. Tormund was wearing one. And Gendry was…and that Daario fucker…and Theon.

Every person in Winterfell seemed to be wearing the same new cloak except for the Dragon Queen’s party.

_Wait? Is that Varys wearing one now?_

It was. The Master of Whisperers was wearing Stark colors and parading around rather proudly. And then, Jon saw Tyrion approach him and gesture towards the cloak and himself. Lo and behold, the eunuch pulled out a dwarf-sized cloak for the Imp!

_Mother, Maiden and Crone…where the fuck are all these cloaks coming from?_

It was then that he noticed Sandor Clegane standing in front of him smirking…and wearing a very massive version of the same cloak he’d seen on everyone else. Everyone but him and the conqueror’s ~~friend~~ … ~~handmaiden~~...translator.

_Well, scratch that…even Missandei’s wearing one!_

“Where’d you get the cloak, Clegane?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

“Oh, this,” Sandor chuckled. “The Little Bird made it for me. Nice, huh?” he asked with a wink as he stroked the fur lining.

Jon felt the bile rising in his throat…and that horrid pain in his chest was starting up again.

“What did you want, Clegane?”

“Your little sister sent me to fetch you. Said she needed to use you for something.”

“Sansa? Sansa wants to see me? Is she making me a cloak, too?”

The big man threw back his head and laughed cruelly. “Not bloody likely, cunt! It’s Arya that wants to see you,” he shouted as he walked away.

Jon pulled his old cloak more firmly about his shoulders and pouted.

_I do not pout. I’m brooding._

He tried to recall how warm and fuzzy he’d felt inside when Sansa had given it to him. But he was struggling…big time. And the one person he wanted to talk to about all this would probably prefer to avoid him.

He headed off to find Arya when he saw a flash of white near the entrance to the godswood.

“Ghost? Is that you? Ghost!” he called happily. He’d not seen his wolf in so long.

_Not since my resurrection if you don’t count what wound up on the cutting room floor!_

“Ghost! I’ve missed you!” he cried.

He raced over towards his direwolf…and Ghost _growled_ at him.

“Ghost? But…but…it’s me…it’s Jon. Don’t you know your Jon?” he asked sadly.

Ghost stopped growling at him but turned away and trotted off into the godswood without a backwards glance.

“Ghost!” he shouted. “Come back!”

But the wolf did not return.

_But he’s…he’s part of me. Our souls are bound. The gods sent the wolves to each of us. We’re…like brothers._

Jon could not bear anymore then. The truth about his parentage, the miserable fact that the Walking Dead were on their way to wipe out his home and his loved ones with the Night King flying an Ice Dragon, the flighty, power-mad Dragon Queen flying off to sack Kings Landing at the worst possible time and all the ways he’d managed to alienate himself from his family and the North in Season 7, hit Jon Snow like a ton of bricks.

And someone off to the side threw a bucket of cold water over him for good measure. At least, he hoped it was just water.

He spied Sansa standing above him on one of the walkways, looking regal and radiant.

He fell to his knees, tore at his hair and screamed to the gods above in a voice that could wake the dead, “HEY, SANSA! SANNNNNSSSSSA!!!!”

(It was all very reminiscent of Tennessee Williams’s ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’)

_I’ll bet I could give Brando a run for his money when it comes to brooding angst, dammit._

“Would you just stop?” Sansa huffed as she looked down at him. “Come up to my chambers and we’ll talk, alright?”

“I…Clegane said Arya wanted to see me.”

“Well, Arya’s scheduled a bad-ass assassin demonstration for 2 o’clock. I think the topic was ‘How to Spot a Traitor.’ Come up and see me first, alright?”

“Okay,” he said whilst wringing out his shirt.

 

 

**Part 2 of our conclusion…a strictly political alliance**

 

(cue “Let’s Get It On”)

 

(and if you don’t enjoy smut…avert your eyes, sweet summer child!)

 

They stood there awkwardly, neither one sure what to say once he’d entered the lord’s chambers. But, Bran had already broken the news this morning to her. She’d been mulling over what to do ever since because that’s what rational, queenly women did when faced with a dilemma…instead of flying into tantrums…or just flying off to watch the world burn like a psychopath in a superhero flick.

Sansa told him that this news…while unexpected and an obstacle to find a way around…didn’t change anything.

“You’re still a Stark to me.”

And then…the waterworks began.

“When Bran told me earlier, I figured you’d just come to me, Jon,” she said kindly several minutes later when his manly tears had started to abate just a bit.

“I didn’t know how,” he mumbled into her skirts from where he sat in the floor at her feet and laid his head in her lap as she stroked his hair. “I thought you’d hate me.”

(Yeah…he’d totally broken down and bawled like a baby the instant she’d told him he was still a Stark.)

_I did not! It was manly tears…and no more than three of them. I did not bawl like a baby._

(He did, too. And he cried harder when she kissed his forehead. She had to make him take several deep breaths to stop from hyperventilating.)

“I could never hate you, Jon. I told you as much yesterday.”

He lifted his head to smile at her. And then promptly laid his head back in her lap because…well, Sansa.

_Gods, she smells so good and she’s all warm and loving. And, she’s running her fingers through my hair. I swear, it’s sending a tantalizing jolt straight to my cock every time her nails scrape my scalp._

“Sam hates me,” he croaked.

“We’ll talk to him,” she said soothingly. “You didn’t know what she’d done.”

“Ghost wouldn’t even come to me.”

“There, there…I’ll have a talk with him tonight.” He raised his head back up off her lap and stared at her incredulously. “What?” she shrugged. “He’s been sleeping next to me every night since Arya threatened to cut my face off.”

“What?!”

“Never mind. It was complete bullshit to set up a ‘shocking’ plot twist for Baelish to finally bite it. Anyway, I’ll get Ghostie to come around.”

He sighed and nestled back into her lap again.

“Soooo…turns out you’re my cuz,” Sansa said a bit later.

“Yeah,” he sighed…as he circled his arms around her waist and snuggled up a little more comfortably in her lap.

“Jon…we need to, um…talk about this.”

“Right,” he said as he sat up at last. “I’m still a Stark but I’m also half Targaryen. Everyone in the North is going to hate me for it. And the Dead are on the move. We don’t have time for this crap.”

“No, you’re right. Now is the time for unity,” Sansa said solemnly as she gazed at the fire.

“Exactly. But I don’t know how to unite us.”

“I think I do.” She glanced at him shyly and smiled. “I hope you won’t think I’ve gone mad when I suggest this…but I believe we need to form an alliance, a strictly political alliance.”

“A political alliance? Between you and me?” he squeaked.

“Yes. And the best way to form a strong alliance is…well, through marriage.”

Jon’s eyes widened in shock even as his heart pitter-pattered at the thoughts of what she was suggesting.

“I can’t ask you to do that!” he protested. _I’d really like to ask you to do that though. And how soon could we consummate this?_ “You deserve to be happy and not stuck with…”

“You’re not asking. I’m asking you. It’s high time I got a say in who becomes my husband.” That same shy smile and she started twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. “I wouldn’t consider myself unhappy with you…in a strictly political alliance…marriage. What do you say? Will you marry me, Jon, and strengthen our house? We’ll make you an official Stark.”

He gaped at her in awe. She was truly too good to be real. He stared and went on staring…maybe a bit too long.

Her smile faltered and she bit her delightfully sweet lips uncertainly.

“You do want to be a Stark, right? You wouldn’t rather become Aegon Targaryen and move to Kings Landing, would you?”

Jon scoffed and shook his head coming out of his daze. “Sansa Stark…what did I say before? The North is my home. I’ll never stop fighting for it. All my life I’ve been Jon Snow and, while it’s nice to know the truth at last in some ways, it really sucks having your identity ripped from you. Regardless, it doesn’t change the way I feel about you or Arya or Bran. Well, it does change how a feel about you a bit,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “And, as for anyone who would believe that fairy tale of me tra-la-la-ing happily off to live down South and calling myself Aegon, I’ve got a lovely time-share at the Wall available for a reasonable fee.” She grinned at him and he shouted, “Of course, I want to be a Stark and remain here and…marry you!”

“Then, marry me, Jon Snow. It can be strictly a political alliance if you wish. I know it may be awkward when we’re forced to consu-…”

He didn’t let her finish that statement. Instead, he pulled her to him for a passionate kiss. His heart sang with joy as he pressed his lips to hers and felt her melt into his arms.

_He was walking on sunshine._

_He heard laughter in the rain._

_All they needed was love._

_They could be heroes._

_He could feel the love tonight._

_Love would lift them up where they belonged._

(You get the idea.)

She was panting when they parted at last to draw breath.

“What were you saying about a strictly political alliance?” he smirked.

“You’re…you’re a good kisser,” she said breathily.

“Oh, I’m good at all kinds of kissing, Sansa,” he said as he dropped to his knees and started lifting her skirts. “Now about our alliance…”

“What are you…OH! Oh, gods,” she sighed. “What do you… _ahhh_ …call this?”

“Negotiation of terms,” he growled as he gripped her arse to pull her closer to his mouth.

“Oh… _ohhhh_ …I like your terms,” she moaned.

He felt her gripping his hair tightly as he put his mouth over her bud through her small clothes again.

“May I remove these?” he rumbled against her thigh.

“What?” she asked dazedly.

“Never mind,” he answered as he tore them off her.

His tongue swiped her folds before teasing her bud again and she swayed. He stood and lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. Her eyes were dark and hooded as she gazed at him. Her cheeks were flushed. She still had her stockings and dress on. He shed all but his breeches and climbed between her thighs.

“Should I continue our negotiations?” he asked.

“Please,” she whined.

He dipped his head back down but kept his eyes on her as best he could. Her head lolled back and she uttered the sweetest moan when he started lapping at her again.  He licked and sucked and used his hands and mouth, thrilled at the way she bucked her hips, grasped the bed furs and called his name. 

When she’d found her release, Jon couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. It’d been years since he’d tried that with Ygritte in their cave. It was wonderful to know he could please Sansa this way. After all…if any woman deserved a pleasing experience in bed, it was Sansa.

He wiped off his beard and rose up her body to kiss her. He laid down beside her, watching her chest rise and fall as she wore the most beatific expression of surprise and delight on her lovely face. This would be enough for now. He could wait until they married for the rest.

“I love you, Sansa,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve been denying it for so long. It’s nice to be able to say it at last.”

“I love you, too,” she said as her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t think of you that way for a long time. And then…it crept up on me. But, it wasn’t until Littlefinger said you might marry Daenerys that I really started to realize my feelings for you had changed. I thought it could never be though.”

“I feared so as well. But I’m happy to have you now,” he said. “How soon would you like to marry?”

“Tomorrow if that’s alright. I’ve got the cloaks nearly ready.”

“The cloaks?” he choked out. “You made me a new cloak?”

“Of course, Jon. You’re part of us here.”

“Gods, I love you, sweet girl! I thought…I saw all the others in cloaks and I thought…”

“That I’d leave you out?” she asked gently.  He nodded and she said, “I wouldn’t be cruel like that. I wouldn’t leave you out, Jon.”

“No, Sansa…you would never be cruel. I’ve been jealous of all the men pledging themselves to you,” he admitted. “But now, I’m glad to see how well loved you are. You truly are our Queen in the North. I’d like to pledge myself to you as well. I can fetch Longclaw and…”

“Oh, Jon,” she laughed. “You’re to be my husband. Let those vows be enough. And, I’ve already had enough swords laid at my feet.” Then, she gave him a wicked grin and asked, “How about we put your sword somewhere else?”

He gaped at her in complete shock and stuttered, “Bu-but…we’re not…mmm-married yet.”

“We will be tomorrow. What’s a few hours head start matter when the end of the world comes our way?” She looked at him shyly again and said, “Unless you don’t want to…”

And as one might imagine, Jon elicited a delighted screech from the Lady of Winterfell then in his desire to prove to her once and for all that he most certainly wanted to put his sword elsewhere.

_Hey…I told you all the way back in Season 1. I know where to put it._

Like wolves in heat, there was an insatiable hunger to their kisses now. Their hands were busy roaming everywhere until Sansa moaned, “Now, Jon.”

Her skirts were haphazardly tossed back up over her chest and Jon undid his laces enough to let his cock spring free when he dove in to kiss her soundly.

He rubbed the head of his shaft across her slit and groaned at how wet she was. She wrapped her long legs around his waist and he entered her slick heat with careful tenderness. It was soon apparent though that he wouldn’t have to hold back out of fear for Sansa.

“Gods, Jon…harder,” she begged.

“Oh, Sansa…you feel so good, my sweet. I want to go faster,” he murmured against her throat as he nipped at the flesh there.

“Yes, Jon…yes! Faster!” she cried, sinking her fingers into his hair and then raking her nails along his back and making him shiver with pleasure.

He picked up the pace of his thrusts, unable to believe that this day that had started off so miserably was turning out so amazingly good.

“ _Unnn_ …Sansa…I’m going to peak soon, sweet girl,” he moaned.

“It’s alright. Just don’t stop,” she said. “Keep loving me. Jon…I’m almost… _uhhh_ …there…”

“I’ll never stop…loving you. Come for me, Sansa,” he urged as a wail of ecstasy escaped from Sansa’s mouth. “Yes, my love. Cry my name!”

“Jon! Jon!” she shouted as she reached her peak.

“That’s right! Oh, gods…Sansa!” he roared as he reached his own and spilled within her.

They lay panting together on the bed with her skirts still all a-hoo and his breeches half off his hips. Both were sweating and speechless. They stared up at the ceiling of Lord and Lady Stark’s bedchambers with their hands entwined. Jon couldn’t quite believe this was real.

_If this is a dream…and I’m about to wake up anywhere but here…just go ahead and kill me now.  And this time...make sure I stay dead._

“So, tomorrow…after we wed,” Jon said at last. “I have one request of our strictly political alliance.”

“What’s that?”

“When we do that again…I want to get completely naked with you.”

Sansa laughed, a rich and happy sound that he had missed dearly for many moons. She laid her head on his shoulder and Jon felt a sense of contentment wash over him. For all the shit he’d seen and done and dealt with, there was no place he’d rather be right now.

“I love your laugh, Sansa. Someday…if we survive all this…I hope I can devote hours of my day to making you laugh, love.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said softly.

She stroked his beard and he kissed her forehead.

 _Well, it is my signature move…that and going down on redheads that I love_.

As the winter day faded, they remained side by side, cuddling on the bed.  He knew the truth about his parents.  He was home where he belonged for now.  And he was going to marry the woman he loved...who had once been his half-sister.  _Eh...I can live with that._

“I’m glad you’re with me, Sansa Stark. Here at the end of all things,” he said wistfully before he fell asleep.

“Well, it’s not exactly the end, Jon. You’ve still got to defeat the Others.”

“The who?” he murmured.

“The Others. Wait, wait…White Walkers…that’s what we call them here.”

“Right, the White Walkers. And if I come back…”

“I will be right here waiting for you.”

“Just like that old Richard Marx’s song, love?”

“Exactly, my special snowflake.”

 

(roll credits)

 


End file.
